Author’s Note: Much of this piece is satirical and humorous, while still exhibiting some sincerity. It’s up to you to decipher that tone.

Dear journalism,

Wow, have we had quite the relationship.

Our “love” began after I was constantly falling behind in my English classes, and had absolutely no clue of my future as a writer.

Then, it morphed into me finally learning how to write an essay properly, and it led me to be encouraged by a high school mentor of mine to join the school’s newspaper.

During that time, you continued to test me with your incessant demands, such as no longer using the Oxford comma and claiming that exclamation marks are the Antichrist. You were always so dramatic about that.

It was rather strange, yet I continued to find myself cast under your spell.

Once I finally changed almost everything I ever knew about the English language, you gave me the opportunity to take on my first leadership roles. General Editor and Marketing Executive. They had such a nice ring to them, but I shockingly needed more of you.

After high school, I told myself that I would apply to the Reveille, but only after my freshman year. I was convinced that I could not become a staff member until after I was completely and utterly sure that I could handle my academic work.

Unfortunately, you and I both know that I was only kidding myself, as I spent the second night of my freshman year in my dorm room crafting my application for an open Opinion Columnist position.

A few days later, I received an email asking for a time to schedule an interview with one of my favorite former editors. And we both know that interview led me to you once again. I got the job as a columnist, and we worked together for a fun, but gruelling nine months. Then, I quit.

To my surprise, I didn’t leave because of you. I left because of external factors outside of your control. And despite my occasional animosity for you, I somehow missed you.

Yet, it wasn’t until nearly a year later that we reunited once again. Ahh, we’re just like Ross and Rachel, how adorable. Not really, but I digress.

You graciously welcomed me back with open arms, once again as an Opinion Columnist. You allowed me to spew out commentary that I would probably never have the courage to speak aloud, unless with dear friends and loved ones. So, I guess I should thank you for that.

Then, you gave me my first collegiate journalism leadership role as an Opinion Editor. We had only been reunited for five months, but this time, it felt like we were meant to be.

Together, we held that editorial position for nearly a year, and I loved and disliked it all at once. I loved it because you showed me that I really could edit. You gave me a purpose. You gave me wonderful colleagues and delightful memories.

The only times I disliked you were when people made me question myself and my love for you. Such as being passed over for other roles, feeling like my job didn’t matter as much as other editorial roles, and feeling the fear that my columnists felt when they received death threats.

I felt helpless for all of it. And this time, I truly thought that I was done with you. Like, truly. In my mind, we were never ever ever getting back together. So, I left.

But once again, I was wrong. You could have just saved me the time and told me that, but you’ve never been that gracious, have you?

Nevertheless, we met again after three months apart. Three long months where, honestly, I barely thought of you. I barely even uttered your name, and when I did, I showed some distaste for you.

But this time, we met with a twist. Unlike every other time, we met at a magazine. You must have been utterly shocked when I made that decision.

I can just imagine the betrayed look on your face as I left the art of newspapers for the art of magazines. But hey, at least you got to spend another 10 months with me. And that we have done.

Even through a different medium, you’ve continued to test my time management skills and my ability to write more creatively, while still allowing me to express myself, even if it’s out of the ordinary for both of us.

I know that it’s been different for both of us. It’s been a different space with new people. A different workload with no special titles.

But through it all, we have made it work, even when I felt like we were writing puff pieces. Nevertheless, you encouraged me and made me feel like what I was doing was still valuable.

And you even let me meet some really interesting people I never would have met without writing feature stories about them.

You allowed me to see a side of my writing that I hadn’t seen in a while. A side full of interviews, listicles, and entertainment and lifestyle-based content. It’s been a true honor to see that side once again, even if I didn’t want our third reunion to occur, initially.

Essentially, you’ve been the longest “will they won’t they” of my 21 years of existence. Congratulations. I would have put an exclamation point after that, but I know how much you hate those.

Nevertheless, for the last six years, I have loved and hated you with a burning passion. I’ve loved you for the colleagues you’ve brought me, the stories I’ve been able to tell, and for giving me a voice that I never thought that I could have.

But I’ve also hated you for the stress you’ve caused me, the many days of second-guessing myself, and the media environment you naturally possess and create.

Yet, in my young adult life, you’ve been my longest “relationship.” Through it all, you’ve given me hope, challenged me in ways that I never thought imaginable, and made me a better writer. And despite it all, I’m so thankful for you for that.

Now that I’m graduating, I am truly going to miss you. Just not enough to get a full-time job as a journalist. At least, I hope not. Or do I? I don’t know, you tell me.

Love your biggest hater/lover, depending on my mood,

Taylor R. Hamilton